


an intense bond

by secondbutton



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: F/M, Pegging, Porn with Feelings, True Ending, in which zag and meg spice up having to kill each other over and over again, or megging if you will, spoilers for end game, they're falling in love again after breaking up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27219169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondbutton/pseuds/secondbutton
Summary: “You know, if you want me to stop bribing you, you should stop accepting them,” he points out.“Zagreus,” she sits up a little, pinning him with a firm look before she registers that all he’s wearing is a towel slung low on his hips. The way her eyes drag down his body tempers her slightly annoyed huff. “What did I tell you? I’m on your bed. We’re alone. Drop the act.”She’s on his bed. They’re alone. Drop the act.A/N: This is currently marked as incomplete because I have plans to continue it but chapter one can be read as a standalone.
Relationships: Megaera/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 137





	an intense bond

**Author's Note:**

> this is for the bisexuals (and the pansexuals) who saw zagreus then pointed at him and said, "this man needs to be pegged."
> 
> this is also for the bisexuals that saw meg and said, "holy shit i want her to top me."

As soon as he wakes up in a pool of blood— _ again— _ Zagreus knows he’s lost their game.  
  
It feels like it’s been an eternity and more since he first started trying to make his way up to the surface. He doesn’t understand how anyone keeps time down here; he’s started marking it by the number of his escape attempts. He’s died painfully dozens and dozens of times—a fair number by  _ her _ hand.  
  
Or whip, perhaps he should say.  
  
Despite the fact that he’s completely healed and regenerated, he can feel its phantom grip as he steps up and out of the Pool of Styx and into the House. Instead of evading it he looks around the hall for its telltale pink; her preferred weapon bears a much different connotation as soon as he’s back home.  
  
The possibility that she’s here dulls his frustration at failing to reach the surface. It has all his considerable senses intent on any sign that confirms her presence: the low rumble of her voice, the pale shine of her hair, the heady, musky fragrance of her skin tinged with the metallic tang of blood. Their rekindled romance isn’t exactly a  _ secret _ within the House—both Nyx and his mother have voiced their approval to the two of them individually—but Megaera has a reputation she’s worked doggedly to build, so he contains his enthusiasm.   
  
As much as he can, anyway. If Cerberus can tell why he got an unusually affectionate tight hug today, the hellhound won’t hold it against him.   
  
Zagreus resists the urge to beeline into the lounge when he catches no sign of her in the hall, opting instead to discuss Varatha’s new aspect with Achilles and his musical progress with Orpheus. He’s shared a pomegranate with his mother in the garden by the time he finally steps into the lounge—casually, as if he hasn’t been mindful of splitting the difference between overeager and aloof ever since Meg started smiling at him again.   
  
The lounge is rather lively for this time of day (or night?), with the kitchenette burning bright and warm and a ball of mirrors refracting colorful lights. The supple rugs and tufted cushions make the lounge feel comfortable: something to look forward to relaxing in after dedicating time and energy to their duties. He’s rather proud of the changes he’s made, actually. A new but pleasant feeling when it comes to being ensconced within these walls.  
  
His patience is rewarded when he finds Neg chatting with Dusa at their usual table. Their friendship is endearing, though how Dusa is not at all intimidated by Meg but has only recently stopped fleeing at the sight of  _ him _ is still a puzzle.   
  
Instead of interrupting them he makes his way to the head chef, careful to make sure that he’s unmissable in Meg’s line of sight. Midstep, he overhears syllables that could be his name. Meg laughs at something Dusa says in response and his chest  _ clenches _ . Each time he hears it bears noting, so that he might be able to inspire it again from her later.  
  
But for now he chooses to busy himself because he wants her to be looking for  _ him _ for once. Zagreus can feel her gaze on him as he exchanges fish with the chef and his body heats up, starting from the flames licking his feet all the way to the tops of his ears.   
  
He’s lucky Meg finds his flush endearing.  
  
Still, she’s specifically told him to stop being insecure around her, so when he finally strides to her side he does so with clear intent and a smile he can’t contain anymore. Her eyes soften when their gazes meet.   
  
Dusa excuses herself shortly after they exchange greetings, though not without a knowing look that drags from him to Meg. The Fury nods reassuringly, a corner of her mouth quirked in an expression that can’t be interpreted as anything other than,  _ “I know what I’m doing."  
  
_ Gods, does she ever.   
  
“So  _ that’s _ where you’ve been getting all this contraband, huh?” Meg turns once they’re alone and pierces him with an authoritative look that shoots straight between his legs, delaying an intelligible response. She has to tilt her head towards the chef so his mind can catch up to the conversation. Her smirk gets more smug the longer it takes.  
  
He’s feeling rather confident himself though, because she just confirmed that she  _ had _ been watching him. Besides, even his father accepts nectar these days. He leans in just the slightest bit, “Don’t worry, I’m saving the best for you.”  
  
“Trying to bribe an Overseer, Prince Zagreus?” He can’t help the slight shiver at how she says his title and his name in that gravelly tone of hers, like the slow, intentional way rocks drag against each other to make diamonds. Her golden eyes, so sharp and keen, hold him in place. She sees what she does to him.   
  
“Wanted to try my luck and see if it’ll work for me again.” Meg likes it when he references their history, he’s learned. Especially the more recent events. It makes them both feel like they’re building something together.  
  
“We’ll see about that,” her words are stern but her eyes sparkle with a taunt. Zagreus doesn’t hesitate to take the bait.   
  
“In a few candle marks, maybe…?”  
  
Meg hides the fleeting curve of her lips by taking a sip of her drink. His senses are dedicated only to her whenever she’s in the room though—which he honestly attributes to how honed his battle instincts have become now—so he catches it. The reminder that he’s not the only one that anticipates their moments alone bolsters him, inflates something light and warm inside his chest.   
  
He leans in closer and her gaze turns sly, eyes narrowing as her smile curls wickedly. Well. That look has certainly preceded  _ pleasant _ events. The memories pull his stare towards her lips. Bright pink is such a stark contrast to her blue skin—as well as his. He finds smears of it even after she departs from his room with a promise to see him around. Zagreus thinks she leaves them behind intentionally, to remind him of where she’s been—pressing against his neck, licking down his chest, nipping inside his thighs, lapping at the most sensitive parts buried inside him—and where she’s planning on returning again.   
  
“So Zag,” As much as he preens whenever she calls him by his title (something he really only started fully appreciating when his mother returned), the nickname warms him up with its familiarity.   
  
“Hm?” And now he’s thinking of all the other ways she says his name.  
  
“What killed you this time?”  
  
Her words click into place with the wickedness of her smile. She’s teasing him and reminding him of their game, playful with him now because she wants to wind him up. A while ago he had jokingly suggested that she let him take the lead in bed whenever he beats her; she’d taken that and upped the stakes so that it only counted if he made it to the surface.   
  
Dying doesn’t carry the same weight of failure for either of them as it did before. It doesn’t sting his pride and stoke his anger now like it did before, when he was so desperate to see his mother, to answer questions he’s asked himself all his life. These days he’s experimenting with his weapons, signing Pacts, and even getting to know his father. Through patricide of all things. Fitting for the god of the dead, he supposes.   
  
Now, for both of them, dying is just the first step towards seeing each other again.   
  
Still, there’s  _ one _ shade he detests losing to. It was a mistake to let him don that ridiculously golden armor and give him a  _ chariot _ . His answer comes out as a grumble. “Theseus.”   
  
Her eyebrow raises. “So you didn’t make it to the top? I’ll have to show my thanks to the King, then.”  
  
“To  _ Theseus _ ? You wouldn’t—”  
  
Her amused laughter interrupts him. “Are you upset because it’s Theseus or because it’s me?”  
  
Zagreus opens his mouth to give her his gut response, but thinks better of it and pauses. He couldn’t care less about who Theseus spends his time with, and he knows much better than to try to control who Meg decides is worthy of her attention. Zagreus is learning to parse out deeper meaning in Meg’s words though, especially when she’s referring to herself.  
  
Right now, he thinks she might be gauging to see if his pride outweighs her position in his life. It’s a mistake he’s made before; he can’t blame her for testing him as they work on fitting together again. But Zagreus wants to prove her right—that her decision to give him a second chance won’t come back to bite her. Knowing this and saying it out loud are two different things though.  
  
“You know the answer to that,” he responds instead, hoping she’ll discern what he means.  
  
“Do I?” She doesn’t let him off the hook. Beneath the challenge in her tone he can hear an unspoken desire to be affirmed.  
  
“I’m happy to remind you,” he stretches, arms reaching up high above his head. He doesn’t miss the way her eyes track the movement of his exposed side. They’re both better at talking during the aftermath anyway. Alone.  
  
“...Go clean up, Zag. You’re filthy,” There’s that distractingly wicked smirk again. “And I intend on collecting my win.”  
  
—  
  
Megaera is already in his bed when he returns from his bath, his skin damp and hair slightly dripping. She’s reclining against his pillows like she knows she belongs there. Her ease has a reassuring effect on him, helps him forget what she looked like when she was collecting the last of her belongings.   
  
The room itself looks different now, which helps mark the change. He’s added some furniture and decorations and even a lyre—which actually gets a lot of use whenever Meg is on duty. Her coloring is a contrast from the deep red sheets on which she’s sinuously reclining. Funny how having a reason to spend more time in this room motivated him to actually make it his.  
  
In Meg’s hand is a cordial glass half filled with ambrosia. Even without her pauldrons she cuts a commanding figure. She takes a sip once she feels his stare, throat bobbing as she swallows and lips sparkling invitingly once she pulls the glass away.  
  
“You know, if you want me to stop bribing you, you should stop accepting them,” he points out.   
  
“Zagreus,” she sits up a little, pinning him with a firm look before she registers that all he’s wearing is a towel slung low on his hips. The way her eyes drag down his body tempers her slightly annoyed huff. “What did I tell you? I’m on your bed. We’re alone. Drop the act.”  
  
She’s on his bed. They’re alone. Drop the act. “You’re right—”  
  
“And the towel.” He lets it fall to the floor without hesitation or shame.   
  
“That’s better,” her lips curl in a smirk at how quickly he did what she asked. “Come here.”  
  
Zagreus is so inescapably drawn to her. Not even a messy breakup and countless battles to the death can dampen the hold she has on him. His feet close the distance between them and he lies on his side, elbow bent so his hand props up his head. He puts himself on display for her and she hums in approval.   
  
Meg reaches behind her to place her glass on the side table before sliding closer to him. She meets his eyes with a scorching look then drops her stare to his lips; it’s his only warning before she claims them with her own. His arms wrap automatically around her to bring her closer, so the only thing separating them is the fabric of her preferred dress.   
  
She tugs at his lower lip when he presses his hardening length against her hips. He opens his mouth for her and their tongues dance, bodies writhing as they wrap themselves nearer and nearer together.   
  
One of her hands is buried in his hair to keep him in place while her leg and arms coil around him, making it so there’s no space between them at all. Zagreus’ hand slips under her skirt to grip one of her cheeks as he grinds against her shamelessly. The other one reaches for the band of metal holding her hair up, tugging it off and releasing the uniquely  _ Meg _ fragrance it keeps within its clamp. If there’s one thing they’ve never hidden when they’re behind closed doors, it’s how much they want each other.  
  
He pulls down her tights and underclothes in one motion. The callouses on his hands scrape against the firm skin of her ass and she growls into his mouth in encouragement as they both shimmy to rid her of her clothes. It’s familiar enough that they don’t have to break their kiss to do it, and when they’re finally skin to skin, his hair raises at the feeling. Zagreus’ hands wander aimlessly, indecisive because he wants to touch her everywhere all at once. He squeezes the meat of her thigh, scratches blunt nails across the planes of her back, palms the soft weight of her breast.   
  
Zagreus sighs into their kiss as she does her own exploring. Her fingers drag down his front, rolling one of his nipples between her thumb and forefinger on her way between his legs. Her grip is sure; she knows exactly how to rile him up. He bucks shallowly into her fist as she gets him to his full length. It doesn’t take long at all and he can feel her smirk through their kiss.   
  
Zagreus lets her have it; this is what she does to him.   
  
“Excited to see me, Zag?”   
  
“I’m doing rather more than  _ seeing _ .”  
  
“Mm, still not enough though.”  
  
“What would you have me do?”  
  
“That’s the most attractive thing you’ve ever said to me.”  
  
Zagreus shifts so that his lips hover over the shell of her ear. When he speaks, his voice rolls with intent. _ “What would you have me do?"  
  
_ This close, Meg can’t hide her reaction to him—she freezes for just a second.   
  
He notes the hitch of her breath with satisfaction as he trails a hand down the corded muscles of her back. When she recovers she wordlessly turns back to the side table to grab the forgotten glass of ambrosia. Zagreus watches her curiously, rising to sit up with her. Surely she wouldn’t put a pause on things just because she’s thirsty…?  
  
His silent question is answered when she tips the glass over her bare chest, eyes boring into his as the shimmering amber liquid drips onto her skin. It trickles down the slope of her breast viscously and covers her chest in sweetness. His stare follows the motion, completely entranced.   
  
Now it’s  _ his _ turn to stop breathing.  
  
When he doesn’t move, she takes his jaw into her hand and directs him where she wants him. He doesn’t hesitate to catch the heaviest drop, dragging his tongue across the soft mounds of her chest and lapping up the sticky sweetness. Her nipples harden under his attention as he takes them between his lips one by one, nibbling just enough to make them ache pleasantly. Meg’s familiar musky fragrance floods his senses, intertwining with the heady effects of ambrosia and the ripening aroma of sex blanketing them.  
  
Not much could be better than this, he thinks. Meg in his arms as he drinks ambrosia off of her, one of her hands gripping his hair tight as the other returns to its place around his shaft. She pumps his length the way he likes—with a twist of her wrist—before cupping the weight of his balls on the way to tease a finger pad in a slow circle around his sphincter.   
  
Zagreus gasps against her skin at the contact, starting to coil tight with anticipation as she winds him up with each pass of her finger. Thank the gods he had prepared himself. She chuckles lowly when his breath gets heavy and pulls her hand away from him completely. The absolute  _ tease. _   
  
“Not yet.”  
  
He bites back the impatient noise scratching at the back of his throat. When Meg wins she’s  _ firmly _ in control, has it gripped in her fist like the hilt of her whip. He’s not in a position to be making any requests right now.   
  
“Lie on your back.”  
  
He shifts to do as she says. Meg looms over him, her knees caging his hips as her sharp gaze roves all over his body. She doesn’t quite straddle him; she sits just low enough to where he’s so  _ aware _ of how close her core is to his length that it feels infinitely far.   
  
The thrill of being so vulnerable and exposed courses through Zagreus like a spark of electricity. It makes his skin flush and he can feel the drum beat of his pulse quickening. It pounds in his palms and he thinks Meg might be able to feel it as well, when he runs his hands over the thick muscle of her thighs.   
  
Zagreus takes his own time to admire too, starting from where he’s touching her. Touching Meg is a privilege he’ll never tire of, he thinks, as his fingertips trail across the lines of her skin. He eyes the apex of her thighs, where a neatly trimmed patch of periwinkle hair points the way to her warmth. He bites his lip, breathing through the sudden urge to put his mouth there. Instead he jerks his gaze up to the tapered muscle of her waist and the tantalizing way her breasts hang over him. He’s amused to note the smears of bright pink across her blue; this time he had put them there.  
  
She holds herself up over him with two hands above his shoulders on the bed. Meg meets his eyes, golden stare brightened with rare affection—though amazingly he’s been more privy to it as of late. The look is fleeting because she descends to capture his lips in a kiss a beat later, but Zagreus knows what he saw—can feel the evidence of it in the way she sighs a little as their mouths reunite, the way her chest sinks on top of him to press closer.   
  
Meg isn’t one for poetic words; he’ll likely never hear poignant reflections from her like he’s heard Patroclus mutter to himself, but he’s learning what it means when she goes out of her way to spend time with him, when she lets him see new parts of her.  
  
He savors their kisses, lips gliding as they chase the remnants of sticky sweetness on each other’s tongues. The weight of her on top of him makes him feel pinned in the best way—there’s nowhere else he’d rather be right now.   
  
His hands meander across whatever he can reach. They slide from the flexing muscles of her back, the meat of her side, the curve of her ass. He grinds against the velvety steel of her lower abdomen and she tugs at his bottom lip in warning.  _ ‘Not. Yet.’ _ he hears in the back of his mind.   
  
They break apart sloppily, breaths starting to get shallow. Meg’s mouth moves to leave a wet trail across his cheeks and jaw on her way to lave and nip his neck. She  _ finally _ settles herself against his length, trapping it between her core and his abdomen. He can’t help the groan that rips from his throat when he feels how slick she already is. Meg’s only response is a dark, smug chuckle. She tugs at his ear with her teeth, only recently pierced so he could wear her gift. When she rolls her hips, she rides him so that the head of his shaft clips against the most sensitive part of her. He catches her rhythm easily, eager to find any way to get closer.   
  
Meg has always inspired the most intense emotions out of him. Desire, passion, shame, anger—they’ve never done anything by halves. The reality of being close again, after  _ everything _ , both humbles and empowers him.  
  
Meg arches to pepper bright pink across his chest. She coats his length with her slick all the while, winding him up until he’s rutting against her, desperation powering his movements. Meg has such a deft way of completely unraveling him; overwhelming his senses to the point of excluding everything else but their reciprocal pleasure.   
  
He’s a flushed, panting mess under her but when he forces his gaze up at her face he can see how affected she is too. There’s an endearing furrow in her brow as she bites her lip, eyes hooded as she rides him. Soft pants puff out of her lips and when she catches him staring at her she pins him with a smirk before sitting up and looking down at him.   
  
She’s beautiful.  
  
Zagreus has to let his eyes slip shut because he doesn’t want to find his release like this. He takes control of his breathing as best he can and focuses on giving her what she wants from him. He reaches a hand in between them and the pad of his index finger finds her clit. His finger presses against her with the amount of pressure he knows makes lights ricochet inside her and she gasps above him. Zagreus can feel her getting wetter and his member  _ throbs _ , but he reminds himself of his priority: to make her fall apart.  
  
He pushes two fingers inside her and her wet warmth immediately clamps down on him. He hisses, his dick jealous of his own hand. She starts riding him in earnest with her clit pressed on the meat of his thumb. Zagreus looks back up at her again, unable to resist watching as one of her hands grips his wrist to keep him in place. The furrow in her brow deepens and she starts muttering. Her words are a barely coherent string, crashing into each other as the verbalization of her rapid fire thoughts.  
  
“That feels good, curl your fingers—ahhhhh,  _ yes— _ ”  
  
Oh gods.   
  
“You’re magnificent.”   
  
A weak, distracted smile breaks through the coiled pleasure on her face. “Flattery... will get you nowhere.”  
  
“I’m hoping—” he adds another finger and she gasps. “Making you fall apart might thrust me... into your good graces.”  
  
He presses the thumb of his free hand against her nub and her hips quicken, now with a clear objective. The hand gripping his wrist tightens and her mouth falls open in a silent O as her head tilts back. Her hips start to lose their rhythm and he knows that she’s  _ close. _   
  
Zagreus can tell Meg has hit her peak when she bucks into his hands without abandon for several beats before stilling completely. Her juices flow down and around his fingers as a low groan escapes from her, taking a rumble of his name with it.  
  
“ _ Zag—"  
  
_ He commits this image of her into memory: Meg completely unraveled in front of him as she takes what she needs, his name slipping out of lips he’s left swollen.  _ He’s _ the one that does this to her, the one that she lets in this close. Zagreus isn’t taking that for granted ever again.   
  
When she regains control of herself she looks down at him. He’s almost amazed to note that the dazed glaze in her eyes is already starting to dissolve. It makes way for a renewed hunger that sends a thrill through Zagreus, reminds him of how neglected his still hard length is.  
  
Meg leans over and her hair brushes over him, raising his skin wherever it lands. Her face hovers right above his and she speaks in a low growl that turns him into a puddle of need.   
  
“You’ve gotten pretty good at that. Think you deserve a treat?”  
  
Words elude him, overwhelmed by the weight of  _ intent _ radiating from her golden gaze. He swallows as she repositions herself. When she’s settled she’s sitting backwards on top of him so her wet core is suspended just breaths from his lips and she can clamp a hand around his base.   
  
Zagreus takes a deep breath before simply craning so that he can lap at her dripping slit. He wants to taste the rewards of his work. She pushes back against him with a curse. His arms wind around the tops of her thighs so his hands can grip a cheek in each to keep her where he wants her.   
  
He’s attuned only to her reactions. A jerk of her hips means to repeat whatever he just did; a soft growl means  _ more _ . She’s more sensitive than before, he notes. He can tell by the small twitches in her muscles when he focuses the tip of his tongue on her nub. But Zagreus wants to draw it out of her, not rip it out. He switches to the flat of his tongue and moves in slow strokes. The tension in the base of her spine relaxes as he laves his attention on her, loses himself in the act of making her feel  _ worshipped _ .   
  
She starts riding his face and his chin is drenched and opportunities to take a breath are few and far between but it doesn’t matter when Meg takes him in her mouth. He groans against her and the sound rumbles through her center. She times the pumping of her fist with the flicks of her tongue against his head and he pushes deeper inside her mouth, dick weeping for its relief.   
  
He plunges a finger back inside her warmth just to see what she’ll do to him in response. He jerks when she presses a finger pad against his sphincter again, this time with much more pressure. The dual stimulation sends throbbing waves of pleasure through his body and he lets himself sink into it.   
  
She teases him with the twist of her wrist, the flick of her tongue, the press of her finger. Zagreus responds in turn by finding the bundle of nerves inside her, mimicking what she’s doing to him. Her throat vibrates in a groan around his length and he breaks away to gasp.   
  
His head falls back against a pillow and he replaces his mouth with a hand briefly as he catches his breath. Meg is pushing him closer and closer to the edge again. He’s deciding whether or not he wants to hang on or burst in her mouth when she releases him with a  _ pop!  
  
_ Zagreus lets out a ragged breath he didn’t realize he was holding when she stops. Meg addresses his unspoken frustration by reaching for the oil on the side table. Oh, alright. That’s an acceptable reason for her to take her hands off of him, he relents.  
  
She twists once she has it in hand to look back at him with a wicked smile that’s full of promise. He bends to the side so he can watch, with acute anticipation, while she pours the lubricant into her palm and on her fingers.   
  
Her oiled hand slides up and down his length while the other prepares to enter him. His back arches up off the bed when one of her fingers breach him, widening him up in search of his prostate. Zagreus pushes her hips back so she’s sitting on his face again as a distraction from the coil she’s winding inside him. He can feel a familiar tightness building in his balls, propelled by each brush of Meg’s finger and twist of her wrist.   
  
He wants her to fall apart once more before she pushes him over the edge. This time he doesn’t take care to ease into it; rather, he picks up where he left off. When she presses against the most sensitive parts buried inside him he bucks into her hold and holds her hips closer. He slides his fingers back inside her to mirror the way she’s stroking him.   
  
Focusing on her helps him stave off his approaching release. She’s rocking faster and faster against him and he knows he can send her barreling off another peak. With a stubborn resolve he stiffens the tip of his tongue and drags it in a looping cross against her clit. His fingers lodge inside her and rock against the bundle of nerves at their tips. Meg releases his dick with a ragged sound from the back of her throat in response. Her hips slide against his face in a reckless, wanton rhythm and he just holds his breath and hangs on, waiting for the gush of slick to pour out of her and tell him he’s done his job.  
  
When she comes again her thighs tremble and squeeze his skull to keep him in place. Zagreus just holds his mouth open for her, letting her ride out her climax and swallowing her essence. Unintelligible muttering bubbles from her mouth and he directs his attention to trying to parse out the words instead of the  _ delicious _ , jerky maneuvering of her hands and fingers still around and inside him.   
  
His name drags out of her li[s and she’s drenching his face and she’s  _ here _ and gods he’s so close. Zagreus’ hips snap and his toes curl. She’s about to wring everything out of him, just a little  _ more— _   
  
“Patience,” she interrupts again in a breathy pant, his only consolation for the interruption.   
  
There’s no stopping the desperate keening sound that slips past his lips as she removes her hands from him completely. She lifts her hips up and he takes the chance to fill his lungs, disoriented from the abrupt way in which she pulled him back from the cliff of his release.   
  
“I’m not done with you.”   
  
Zagreus stays where he is, dick throbbing and heartbeat ringing in his ears, as Meg rises from the bed. He has enough presence of mind to admire her; Zagreus loves the toned lines of her muscles, the unique tint of her skin, the proud and commanding way she holds herself even on shaky legs.   
  
Meg notices him staring and bends down to kiss him, humming with satisfaction. Distantly he realizes he must look completely debauched, with his dick bobbing in the air unassisted, his whole body inflamed with a red flush, his face shining with the evidence of her climax.   
  
She rises after a few beats and he watches with weighted expectancy as she steps into her harness and attaches a length of glass with a tapered, bulbous tip. It’s one of his favorites for its complementary azure color and the swirling ridge that lines it.  
  
Gods, now even his sphincter is quivering.   
  
Once it’s secured and lubricated she crawls over him slowly, intentionally. He’s immobilized by the smug, appreciative weight in her smile. Her hair drapes over them and she nudges the tip promisingly at his entrance. Zagreus bites his lip—he thinks he might’ve stopped breathing if his body didn’t do it involuntarily for him.  
  
“You ready for me, Zagreus?”  
  
Somehow he finds his voice; he wants her so badly. “Yes, Meg,  _ please—"  
  
_ Meg doesn’t make him wait anymore. She pushes in, shallow at first to spread the oil and ease him open. He’s so ready that she meets almost no resistance. The deeper she goes the more times the ridges of the glass pass his prostate, drowning him further and further in an all-encompassing pleasure. He reaches mindlessly for her and one hand palms the weight of her breast while the other uses her ass as an anchor.   
  
Once her hips are flush with his she pauses. Her eyes drift from the place where they’re joined, to his weeping member, to the pink peppered on his skin, and then finally the mirrored admiration in his gaze.   
  
Meg is an absolute vision above him—always is even when she’s got him pinned in battle. He knows he can’t last long like this, not with the image she creates or the sharp pleasure she’s pulling from his very core.  
  
When she starts moving again it’s with a shallow rocking. The movement is slow, simple, but she’s got the angle of their hips so perfect it lights explosions behind his eyes, clouding and crossing his vision so that all he can register in front of him are his favorite shades of blue and his quickening ascent back to the precipice of climax.  
  
She elongates her strokes gradually and Zagreus can’t maintain their eye contact as he throws his head back against the pillows. Meg’s hand returns to his member in half a fist, with four of her fingers curled around his girth while her thumb is parallel with his length. The pad of it presses against his frenulum on each pass and he knows he’s going to shatter like this: with her buried inside him and surrounding him at the same time.   
  
He tries to hang on, his earlier impatience outweighed by wanting this to last so he has more to relive after she inevitably catapults him into incoherence. But when Meg wants him to come her dedicated effort and attention are impossible to resist for long. Each piston of her hips squeezes him into a tighter and tighter coil, pushing the limits of what he can withstand until he bursts.   
  
“You look good like this Zag,” she breathes out above him as she matches the rhythm of her fist to her hips so that each stroke is lengthened, deepened. “You look like  _ mine."  
  
_ All he can manage is a whimpered, “Yours, Meg— _ oh gods—"  
  
_ Meg quickens, deftly maintaining just the right angle despite the faster pace. Zagreus feels like he’s being pulled up; despite tremendous pressure he’s rattling upwards, his ascension spurred on by Meg’s unerring rhythm and encouragement. His whole world closes in so it’s just the two of them in his room. Normally that would leave him feeling stifled, but with Meg and her ambition and her zeal and the standards she believes he can reach he has never felt freer.  
  
She flings him into the bright light of his release like a decisive flick of her whip and he lets out a ragged groan. He bucks freely on her length as he spurts into her hand and onto his abdomen. His vision floods white and for several long beats he’s suspended in a rush, back bowed and unconcerned with the noises he’s making.  
  
Even when he collapses back on the bed Meg maintains a slow, shallow pace. After his orgasm he’s over sensitive; it feels so good he wants to run away from it but Meg keeps him in place with a firm hand on his hip. She milks a few more drops from his prostate, draining him completely as he pants and twitches and shudders beneath her.   
  
“M-Meg… it’s too much—”  
  
She huffs with a chuckle and stills before pulling away slowly. He collapses, drenched in sweat, sticky with ambrosia and their mixed fluids. Meg sits up on her knees above him, blue glass still dripping with oil. She looks down at him with fond self-satisfaction before shuffling off of him to remove her harness and head to the bathroom.  
  
Meg returns to the bed a few minutes later, thankfully before the pool on his stomach starts drying. She slides close to him as she cleans him up with a warm, damp towel. Aftercare is a new ritual for them, one that Zagreus finds himself looking forward to almost as much as the act of sex itself. It had started as a reason for both of them to linger and transformed into another unspoken display of affection.   
  
He separates a lock of her hair to twirl around his fingers, watching dazedly as she takes care to reach all the hidden crevices where their coupling left its mark. He notes that she makes sure to leave the smears of bright pink wherever she can, however. When she’s done he opens a tub of salve and applies it to his entrance, immediately soothing the slight soreness. Meg told him once that she kept the salve handy so that he’s always ready when she wants him, but he suspects her own benefit is secondary to his comfort in this case.   
  
The gesture always leaves him feeling warm—this is the other side of the coin for them. Though outside of his room all the House sees their violent rivalry, there’s an opposite and growing tenderness between them when they’re alone. Once she’s done he pulls her close so he can wrap his arms around her and nuzzle his face into her neck. Meg returns his embrace and tangles their legs together and he sighs, completely content. Ever since his mother returned to the House everything seems to be falling in place for him. Including, delightfully, his and Meg’s positions in each other’s lives.  
  
Her breathing rustles his hair and the soft stillness of the moment lulls him into a rare (at least these days) lethargy. His whole being—body, mind, heart—is at peace. Zagreus drops lazy kisses on the soft, fragrant skin of her neck, taking the opportunity since it’s exposed instead of protected by metal. He can feel her hum under his lips and he tightens his embrace, squeezing simply because he’s  _ happy. _   
  
“I think you’re tricking me into losing, Meg,” his voice is husky.   
  
“You know I don’t have to resort to tricks,” she volleys back with ease, fingers trailing idly on the bare skin of his back.   
  
“Maybe it’s not intentional, but it’s hard to regret losing when the consequence is  _ that." _   
  
Meg nips his ear. “You have other motivations, Zag. I just like to remind you what you have to come home to.”  
  
His hands slide to the taper of her waist. “Consider me  _ properly _ reminded.”  
  
“Good.” She presses a smile against his temple and they relish in their intimacy together for precious long minutes.  
  
“Meg,” he broaches gently. “How long until you have to go back out to Tartarus?”  
  
“We have a while,” she sounds as relieved as he feels. “Alecto has been feeling particularly bloodthirsty recently.”  
  
“Lovely,” he rustles slowly to sit up, tilting his head with an inviting quirk of his lips in the direction of his bathroom. His bathroom that has a tub that can fit both of them. “My turn to clean you up.”   
  
Meg looks him up and down, as if considering, though he can tell by the flash in her eyes that she’s already made up her mind. She doesn’t hold onto her feigned sternness for long, letting her face split into a fond smile.   
  
“After you, Zag.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! 
> 
> i honestly really, really adore meg and zag's dynamic. the whole time i was playing the romance i kept itching to fill in the gaps. but once i got the true ending and the official romance scene i knew i NEEDED to write their endearingly clumsy post-game romance development. zag is just SO into meg and meg is understandably guarded but wanting to trust—it's really delicious and i hope i did it some justice.
> 
> kudos and comments always treasured! i'd love to see your thoughts, even if it's just a keysmash. 
> 
> also, make sure you check out the accompanying [art](https://twitter.com/secondsbutton/status/1321173103259590668?s=20) to this fic by [jazzvalkyrie](https://twitter.com/jazzvalkyrie) 🥵
> 
> if you'd like to keep up with me, subscribe here on ao3 or catch me on twitter: [@secondsbutton](https://twitter.com/secondsbutton) 💗 i have a chapter two planned in meg's pov so be on the lookout 👀


End file.
